


Midnight Dances

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Singin' in the Rain (1952)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-22
Updated: 2005-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:23:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1636277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Petra LeMaitre</p>
    </blockquote>





	Midnight Dances

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Petra LeMaitre

 

 

Cosmo smashed his hands flat against the keyboard, producing a satisfyingly dissonant sound. He normally balked at such rough treatment of an instrument, but his frustration had been escalating all evening. In addition, the piano was old and out-of-tune, and a sticky G and B-flat had been driving him crazy.

So far, Cosmo was having no success with his efforts to develop a new number for his and Don's act. On top of his writer's block, the heat in the theater had gone off an hour ago, and despite his fingerless gloves, his hands were aching and stiff. The other performers had long since left. Kansas City was one of the larger stops on the tour, and everyone was eager to experience whatever nightlife they could find. Don had been among them. The last Cosmo had seen of him, he had been chatting up a redhead from the audience. Although Cosmo normally relished the chance to dazzle a few of the local girls with some fancy steps and a few witty jokes, for some reason he felt melancholy and in need of some solitude this evening.

To cheer himself up, he launched into _The Maple Leaf Rag_. It had been a while since he had played it, and he found his fingers tripping on some of the notes in the second strain. If nothing else, the piece gave his hands a much-needed workout and helped warm them up as well. Once he had reminded himself of the correct notes, he started it again, this time faster.

He had just started the repeat of the third strain when he heard the sound of footsteps matching the beat, then shifting to a counterpoint rhythm. He looked up to see Don smiling at him while tapping out a complicated, syncopated rhythm. Don's street shoes made an echoing thud on the wooden stage floor, in contrast to the more usual crisp clicks of his tap shoes. Nevertheless, the sounds Don made were quick and precise, a testament to his skill.

Inspired by a mischievous thought, Cosmo switched to a Strauss waltz. Within two measures Don had caught on and altered his steps to the more stately dance. Cosmo watched in fascination; he never tired of watching Don dance, never tired of admiring that regal carriage - the strength of Don's back, the elegant posture, the careful placement of the arms that never looked less than casual and effortless. Don escorted his imaginary partner through the dance with all the grace and dignity of an eighteenth century courtier.

Cosmo next segued into a foxtrot, with Don once again quickly adapting to the new rhythm. The energetic dance took him all over the stage as he improvised a few heel kicks and spins to accentuate it.

"Is that all you've got?" Don challenged, without missing a step.

"I apologize, oh Master of Dance." Cosmo bowed over his keyboard while he continued to play. "I am a poor piano player, unworthy to accompany even your bowel movements."

Don laughed and stopped dancing. He started to walk towards Cosmo, but Cosmo stopped him with an upraised hand.

"Please, kind sir," he begged in his most pathetic voice, "give me one more chance to redeem myself."

"Very well." Don stuck his nose in the air. "You have one more chance, servant. Do your best or risk incurring the wrath of your master." He waved his hand at Cosmo, encouraging him to carry on.

"Yes sir, thank you sir." Cosmo clasped his hands together and bowed again. With an exaggerated flourish of his arms, he began pounding out a stately march. Don mimicked a yawn, but entered into a soft shoe dance, periodically subdividing the beats with quick steps. Cosmo grinned to himself and began a gradual accelerando. Don's feet kept up with the increasing speed with deft and controlled movements. His pants were loose enough that Cosmo couldn't see the movements of his muscles as they worked, but by this time he knew Don's body so well he could easily visualize their flexing strength and contours. In his estimation, no lion or horse could ever possess the fluid grace and power of the man in front of him.

As he increased the tempo of the march he was playing, Cosmo was forced to pay closer attention to the music. He and Don were in a race now, the two of them pushing each other faster and faster to see who would mess up first. Cosmo's fingers made several near-slips, in part covered up by the piano's current out-of-tune state. Still he drove on, spinning out the notes faster and faster. He could see Don gasping for breath but determined to win. His moves were getting wilder and sillier - a couple of mock pliés and jetés thrown in out of desperation. Cosmo felt as if his hands were working without his conscious control, running ahead of him, carried away by the music.

"Enough!" the two men shouted simultaneously then let out twin exaggerated sighs. Don walked over and near-collapsed on the bench next to Cosmo.

"You're a cruel slave driver, Cos." Don closed the lid on the keyboard and slouched onto it.

Cosmo briefly massaged his back with one hand. "Stop it, you crazy kid. You know you love me."

Don chuckled. "I missed you this evening. What did you stay here for? Kansas City may not be New York, but at least they've got a place that serves drinks."

"My muse is a harsh mistress." Cosmo smirked. "Besides, you seemed to be getting on fine with Miss Abbott."

"Miss Anderson. And did I mention she had a cute sister?"

"And what, pray tell, keeps you from the side of the estimable Miss Anderson and her cute sister?"

Don shifted so that he was facing Cosmo directly, with an elbow on the keyboard lid. "She's a nice kid, Cosmo, but a bit too starry-eyed over the glamour of show business. I like my woman with a little more cynicism."

"Your problem, Don, is that you never want what you have."

"Why Cosmo." Don lifted an eyebrow. "You almost sound serious there."

Cosmo raised his hand to his heart as if shocked. "Never! I'm either a happy clown." He beamed brightly. "Or a sad clown." He twisted his face into a frown. "But never am I a serious clown." He scrunched his forehead into a look of intense concentration.

Don laughed and waved him off. "My apologies. I didn't mean to offend a practitioner of the clowning arts."

Cosmo didn't respond in kind. Instead he let out a small sigh and looked at his friend. "Someday, Don, you'll meet a woman who doesn't fall for your charms, and that's the gal you'll end up marrying."

"Come off it Cosmo." Don nudged him with his shoulder. "Somehow I don't see me settling down."

"Nonsense." Cosmo closed his eyes and placed his palm on his forehead. "I foresee it," he intoned.

"Well," Don said, "if you foresee it..."

"It's true." Cosmo pointed a finger in the air. "And I will be your best man." He brushed off Don's shoulders and adjusted his imaginary lapels. "And I will be the pastor the marries you." He lengthened his face into a solemn expression and launched into a rapid-fire "Do you take this man? Do you take this woman? Then by the power of blah, blah, blah. Man and wife."

Don clapped. "Bravo."

"Don't forget, I'll also be the person crying in the congregation." Cosmo buried his face in Don's shoulder and wailed "They're such a beautiful couple."

"Okay, cut it out." Don gently pushed Cosmo's head away from him. "I promise. If I ever get married, you'll be the best man." Cosmo adopted an expression of mock glee. "But the other two are right out." Cosmo slouched and pulled on a hang-dog expression.

"Anyway, can we marry me off some other night? It's late, and I'd like to get back to the hotel." Don stood and Cosmo followed suit. "Come on." Don slung an arm around Cosmo's shoulders. "Let's go to what passes for home this evening. We've got some ginger ale and some pretzels. We'll party in style."

Cosmo leaned slightly into Don's embrace. The other man's warmth felt comforting in the cold theater. Tonight they'd go back to their shabby hotel room. They'd play cards and try to make each other laugh. Later they'd huddle under the thin blankets for warmth. Maybe tonight would be one of the nights the huddling led to something else and maybe it wouldn't. Cosmo didn't care. He had his best friend and a job he loved. For him, that was enough.

the Enb

 


End file.
